in a better time you could be my friend
by LadyMoriel
Summary: Clint Barton does not care about him. Loki knows this. But surely it cannot hurt to pretend, just for a little while. (A semi-canon-compliant Avengers missing scene. Not intended to be Clint/Loki. Warnings for panic attacks and references to torture.)


_He will make you long for something as sweet as PAIN_

—and Loki is flung violently back into his own body, the Other's touch like lightning in his veins, burning, reverberating. He shudders, his grip tightening on the scepter, and makes a concentrated effort to slow his breathing.

He has to speak to Barton. Has to check on Selvig and the Tesseract. Needs to plan, needs to stay in control, needs to—

He needs to _breathe_, and he seems to have forgotten how. Distantly Loki realizes he has not stopped shaking and then that he is on the verge of panic and someone is going to _see_.

Loki climbs to his feet, rather less fluidly than he would like but still not clumsily enough to attract attention, and strides toward the tunnel. He is cracking apart, he can feel it, and all he can do now is contain the damage and find a place to break down in private where no one will see his weakness. There are small, little-used rooms along the tunnel for storage and maintenance, and at least he can hide in one until he can master himself again.

_Master_. He stumbles, bones thrumming with remembered pain, and it's not real this time—not like the slowly fading ache the Other's touch left behind—but that hardly matters, does it?

_you will long for something as sweet—_

Another shudder seizes him. Grimly he forces himself to keep walking as normally as he can, because this illusion of control is all he has left. By the time he reaches the nearest door, only stubbornness and willpower are keeping him from staggering, his knuckles are white around the scepter he is now using as a staff for support, and he is fighting for air as if the titan's giant hand is still locked around his throat. But he makes it inside before he slumps against the wall, and that is the important thing—although it feels like a very hollow, pathetic victory, when he is cowering in a dirty little room full of pipes and he still can't get a single full breath no matter how much he gasps.

Part of him wonders if he's dying, even hopes vaguely for it, but he knows he's not that lucky. His body and mind are rebelling, broken as they are, but soon he will have to carry on, pushing himself toward inevitable defeat.

Oh, he might win Midgard, for a little while. He can perhaps delay the inevitable for a time. But the compulsion driving him onward means he cannot stop, and its presence means he is no true ally of the Chitauri and their master. Not that his treatment at their hands when he fell out of the void made that likely to begin with.

And he knows he has not tasted the full measure of his master's hospitality. Knew even then, when they broke him enough for Thanos to plant his hooks in Loki's mind, that his breaking could be far, far more thorough. Weakened already by the void, he hadn't needed more, but when Thanos has him back—when Loki has retrieved the Tesseract, as he is bound to do, when he has fulfilled his purpose and outlived his usefulness, and the titan has no need to honor a bargain made to a thrall, then—

Perhaps, eventually, Thanos will let him die.

Even that thin comfort sounds like desperately naïve optimism. He is still physically very tough, after all, and he can survive a great deal. He is quite sure the Chitauri, savage as they can be, will be able to keep him intact as a plaything for a very long time. Or perhaps Thanos will simply toss him back into the void. It is impossible to say which fate would be worse.

Of course, with his luck and the titan's generosity, Loki probably won't even have to choose. Very likely he'll be afforded the pleasure of experiencing both.

His stomach churns and his head spins and a little voice in his mind gibbers _please please don't I can't I don't want please no_ and he slides down the wall to sit hunched and shaking on the grimy floor. He knows, he _knows_ that they will tear him apart, over and over until they are bored of him, until they have carved every useful secret from his flesh, and then they will consign what's left to the void, and he will fall and fall and never _stop_ until the nothingness has eaten away every piece of his consciousness except terror and pain.

He knows he cannot bear it, wants to be sick even imagining it, and yet he can do nothing but keep marching onward to his own doom. Not destruction, not dissolution; the universe and Thanos are not that kind.

_I should have died when I fell_, he thinks, and then he wants to laugh, because even now his body refuses to obey him, heartbeat thundering and chest heaving ineffectively for air when it would be so much better to simply _stop_.

Loki is so caught up in the blood pounding in his ears and the way his lungs seem unable to inflate properly that he doesn't realize Barton has followed him until the agent is actually crouching in front of him, and then he flinches back, unable now to control his instinctive reaction. No, he is not supposed to be here, why is he here, no one was supposed to _see_—

"Hey, hey, easy," Barton says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "You're okay. Just breathe with me, can you do that?"

_I am not a child, of course I can_, he wants to snarl, but he is gasping too shallowly to speak, and in truth he is not at all sure he can follow any instructions Barton gives him.

Later, he thinks, he will be disgusted with himself, a god brought so low as to cling to a mortal's orders for security and direction. Right now, he just wants to breathe again.

"It's okay. Try to match my breathing," Barton says. "Breathe in through your nose…hold it…breathe out through your mouth. You can do it." Loki shakes his head jerkily, because he _can't_, how can Barton not see that? "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you can."

"What is this," he bites out. He cannot stop shaking and he _cannot breathe_.

"Panic attack," Barton says, still calm, still steady. "Is it okay if I touch you? Just my hand on your arm? Sometimes contact helps."

"Fine," Loki says, or tries to, but Barton seems to get the message. He edges closer, reaching out slowly so Loki can see exactly what he's doing, and Loki wants to snarl at him for that too because he is not—not what? An unreasoning beast frightened past the point of reason, ready to lash out at anyone who tries to help him? He chokes on a bitter laugh.

Barton rests his hand Loki's vambrace first, just a little pressure to say he's there, and then his hand moves purposefully down to curl over Loki's—loose, not a hold, nothing that could be interpreted as restraint, just resting there. Making contact.

"Okay," Barton says quietly. "Okay. I'm right here. Just breathe with me."

The breath escapes Loki's lungs in a rush and a great shudder passes through his body, leaving him lightheaded and exhausted in its wake. But he feels his pulse finally begin to slow, as if it's trying to match Barton's, and he takes his first full breath in what feels like hours.

"That's it," Barton says. "In and out. That's it. You're doing good."

Loki breathes. He is still shaky and his chest aches, but he breathes, and something inside him clings to the praise (he will be disgusted with himself for that later too, most likely). Barton's hand is warm and steady and calloused on Loki's wrist, and it has been _so long_, so he gives in to momentary weakness and leans his head against the archer's shoulder. Barton doesn't tense up or pull away, and for a moment Loki just lets himself rest, Barton's solid presence anchoring him.

(He knows precisely how long it has been since the last time anyone touched him in kindness. He remembers his mother—no, not his mother—embracing him after he killed Laufey, remembers that instant of wild hope that he'd done it, his plan was _working_, he was destroying the monsters and Odin would know he was a loyal son and everything would be all right and he could forget he was one of the monsters too. Could have this, without wondering if Frigga had to steel herself to touch him, if Thor would kill him at the first glimpse of Loki's true skin, if Odin regretted saving him from the cold—because if all the monsters were gone, he wouldn't be a monster anymore either.

The more fool he, for thinking he could ever be anything else.)

Gradually, Loki's heart rate slows to something approaching normal, and the world comes filtering back in. The floor they're sitting on is caked with probably years of dirt and it's far too hard to be comfortable, but for the moment he's too drained to move much. He shifts a little away from Barton, and Barton moves back too, breaking the contact. Loki feels a pang of loss that swiftly turns to a flush of embarrassment only centuries of experience keep out of his expression. "You've done this before," he says, entirely unsure whether gratitude or mortification is uppermost in his mental state.

Barton nods. "Sometimes I work with new agents, kids fresh out of the academy who've never been in the field. Sometimes things get bad, so I've learned how to help them through it."

Loki feels his expression pinch. "You only do this for _children_."

"Not at all," Barton says, unfazed. "Situations affect people in different ways, and that's true for recruits, vets, and everybody in between."

"Somehow," Loki says flatly, "after what you've told me, I have a hard time imagining the Black Widow falling victim to a _panic attack_."

"Yeah? She has, actually."

Loki straightens, eyes narrowing. "If you are lying in an ill-conceived attempt to make me _feel better_—"

"Nah," Barton says. "Not my way. I mean, I'm a SHIELD agent, of course I know how to lie, but not for something like that. Don't see the point." He shrugs. "Sometimes, missions we've been on, things get really bad. And we keep it together, because we're good at this and that's the only way to stay alive. But when we're safe enough again to fall apart a little bit, sometimes one of us does, and then…we get through it."

Loki does not want to think about this, to imagine his opponents as men and women strong and competent enough to do what needs to be done even when everything inside them wants to shatter, but wise enough to know that repressed emotions do not disappear on their own. And comfortable enough, confident enough in their regard for each other, to allow even a close companion to witness such vulnerability.

Speaking of vulnerability. Loki grimaces as another unpleasant thought asserts itself. "Did anyone else notice my, ah, hasty exit?"

"Just me," Barton says. "Nobody else thought anything was wrong."

That is good, at least, and he is abruptly grateful that it is Barton here and not Selvig—who is of course centuries younger than Loki but who looks old enough to be his father, who might care too because of the damned scepter, whose compassion Loki is certain he could not bear. Not when this, too, is something he can only have as a simulacrum created by the pathetic, barely acknowledged longing of his own mind. He sighs and rests his head back against the wall.

"Obviously," Barton adds, "something _is_ wrong. Is it something I should know about?"

Loki huffs out a breath of mirthless laughter. "It is not _precisely_ relevant to the mission." Barton waits, and after a moment Loki admits, "I have found myself in what I believe you mortals call a no-win scenario."

"What, like the _Kobayashi Maru_?" Barton asks, incomprehensibly. "Because at least in the new movie, the lesson I got was that if the game's rigged against you and you can't win playing by the rules, you cheat."

Well, that much is clear enough. Loki smiles thinly. "Believe me, Agent Barton, I am very good at cheating. I have had centuries in which to practice, and I have honed it to a form of art. The situation in which I now find myself is…not one that will benefit from my usual methods."

"If you're worried about the Avengers Initiative," Barton says, "there's no guarantee of them actually posing a significant threat. The original plan was scrapped for a reason, after all, and if Fury can't get them to play nice with each other, he's got nothing special up his sleeve. Nothing for an assault of this scale, anyway."

"Do you truly think they will not band together, even to save their realm?"

"I think they'll _try_," Barton says, "but most of them have never even met, and they're not going to mesh easily. And the thing is, Fury, Hill, and Coulson are used to dealing with agents. Unorthodox ones maybe, people who don't always work well on a team, but people who do know how to follow orders and prioritize the mission. Almost none of us have experience with these…superhero _personalities_. Dealing with them—that's gonna be more like like herding cats."

Loki barks out a startled laugh at the mental image, and Barton actually grins at him. The smile makes something go tight in Loki's chest, because this feels just a little like having his own (_friend_) comrade for once, and he has no _time_ to indulge himself in something that will only hurt later. "I rather like cats, actually."

"Yeah, well, you take my point. Getting them to work together as a unit will be tough. Banner's a civilian that turns into a nearly uncontrollable weapon, Stark's a civilian _and_ a diva, Rogers is a soldier but historically he's only followed rules until he thinks it's more important not to, Natasha's an agent but even she can't force everyone else to mesh, and your brother's an almost completely unknown quantity even if he does show up." Loki's jaw tightens at the mention of Thor, and of course Barton notices. Hawkeye indeed. "What do you think?" he asks bluntly. "Is Thor—or anyone else from Asgard—likely to step in?"

"It is…difficult to say," Loki says, trying to set aside the tangle of _hurt anger love loss rejection grief_ that he cannot now separate entirely from his thoughts of his erstwhile home or family. "With the Bifrost broken, Odin cannot easily send anyone, and Thor cannot go charging off on a whim. The Allfather would have to summon a great deal of dark energy to power any transport, and he would not do so lightly. Certainly he and his son did not care enough to make the effort when I was the only one at risk, when I—" _needed you, why didn't you come, why didn't you _try_, why didn't you listen when I screamed for you_— He clears his throat and forces his mind away from that path, forces the bitterness out of his voice. "At any rate, they would not come only for me, and we have had so few dealings with Midgard in the past several centuries that the Allfather might not care enough about the fates of brief mortals to intervene."

"But Thor might care," Barton says.

Well, yes, there is that. Loki fights down yet another upswelling of (_hurt_) resentment at the thought of the little mortal woman who managed to gain more of Thor's attention and respect in three short days than Loki was afforded in all the preceding _centuries_. And of course Barton's familiar with the entire…incident. "He might, it is true. He seemed to have become inexplicably fond of this realm after a _very_ short time here. But then, he might also have forgotten. It would not be the first time he did so after believing himself deeply attached to someone." Perhaps it didn't count when he'd become so used to taking his shadow's presence for granted that he could scarcely bring himself to care when he left it behind. "The Tesseract is a powerful artifact, of course. Thor might come to retrieve that."

"You know, I've got a brother too," Barton says. Loki looks at him sharply, and he shrugs, apparently content to let the statement stand on its own. "So we'll put Thor down as a solid maybe. Still—I'm guessing he's not that great at functioning as part of a team."

Loki thinks of Jotunheim, of Mjolnir shattering rock and ice as Fandral bled into the snow and Loki screamed at Thor that they had to _leave, now_, and the awful certainty that his disastrous plan and Thor's inability to listen to reason were going to get all of them killed. "No. No, he is not."

Barton nods. "Like I said. Natasha will try her damnedest to keep them together and on track, but she's only one person, and if the others can't learn to cooperate, they won't be effective enough to stop us."

_Us_. Such a simple word should not be enough to spark a tiny glow of warmth inside him, but it is, and he ruthlessly snuffs it out. He is not a child, desperately grateful for any crumb of recognition or acceptance tossed his way. He should be _past_ this. That boy died for good on the Bifrost; the creature who tumbled into the abyss understood that he had always been alone and always would be, that he could depend on no _us_, no promises of kinship or loyalty or affection. And yet, after everything, he still…wants, and wants badly enough that his mind will grasp at any comforting illusion of friendship, even when he _knows_ it is nothing more than a lie he himself created.

Because Barton does not care about him. Loki _knows_ this. It is the scepter, it is all a lie, and yet…it can hardly hurt to pretend. Just for a little while. What he truly wants is lost to him forever, but he can have this, a loyal friend until Barton dies or the spell breaks, and it is not enough, but at least it is something. At least he can pretend for a little while that he is not alone. It is weak and shameful and he _needs_ it.

For one long moment he allows himself to _wish_, uselessly, that he could have had a friend like this centuries ago, when it might have made a difference—someone who cared about _him_, not just him as an extension of Thor, someone who cared enough to risk the Liesmith's sharp tongue when things needed saying or doing, someone who _knew_ him enough to understand when his own silence was destroying him and when it was the only thing keeping him sane, and cared enough to act on that knowledge.

(After he took down Fury's helicopter, and they'd driven what Barton apparently judged to be a reasonable distance, the archer had stopped the vehicle at the side of the road to point out that Loki would be more comfortable in the cab with him and Selvig, now that they probably didn't need a gunner. Loki had looked at the small dark space and felt something inside himself coiling tight, but he'd acquiesced with a stiff nod when Selvig offered the passenger seat.

"Buckle up, kids," Barton said, and then off Loki's look, "Seatbelt. Up by your right shoulder." He tugged on his own to demonstrate. "So you don't go through the windshield if we hit something."

Loki looked at the belt across Barton's body, imagined using his own and willingly strapping himself down, and the thought of even such a flimsy restraint was enough to make his breath come short.

"That is unnecessary," he said, not entirely succeeding in keeping his voice light. "You may need such a thing; I expect I would be merely inconvenienced if this vehicle were to crash."

Barton looked at him shrewdly, then nodded and turned his attention back to the road. "I'll take your word for it. You go up in a plane or something, though, might want to strap in," and that was it.)

Once more Loki wonders how much of this is the scepter's manipulations and how much is Barton—but then, it doesn't really matter, does it? With his spider, no doubt, he knows when to speak and when to be silent, when to press her to unburden herself and when to simply abide with her, because he knows her and he cares. Right now he cares about Loki, too, but it is all artificial, manufactured by the same power that keeps Loki tethered to his masters (and it turns his stomach all over again, just to think the word and feel the inescapable truth of it).

And Barton is giving him the same hard look now, and again he is seeing too much. After a moment he says, "Is there anything, maybe, that isn't exactly relevant to the mission but you might want to tell me anyway?"

"Only that I cannot fail," Loki says, and that is as much as he can admit even to Barton. _There is no victory for me_, he wants to say. _If Thor crushed my skull I would die grateful because at least then I might be free_, he wants to say, and he cannot.

Barton studies his face a little longer and nods. "Okay. Then we won't fail. The plan is solid, and right now nobody except Natasha has a personal stake in this. That's what it would really take, I think, to get a group this mismatched to the point where they would even be capable of functioning as a real team."

"A personal stake," Loki says.

"Yeah. Fury can't manufacture that." He pauses. "Sir...what aren't you telling me about the people giving you orders?"

Loki rubs one hand down his face. He is so, so tired. "A great deal, all of which you are better off not knowing."

"And if you fail them," Barton says, "they're going to kill you. Right?"

Loki huffs out a breath of laughter. "Would that it were so simple."

Barton meets his gaze, and his eyes are fierce despite the flat blue clouding them. "If there's anything else you need me to do, anything at all, just say the word."

Loki stares back at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Is Barton always this loyal in the face of much greater enemies, or did the scepter create that too?

"If you hope somehow to_ save_ me," he says, a bit more acidly than he intends, "you are at least a year too late."

"And I'm sorry for that," Barton says, "which is why I'll do everything I can _now_," and once again Loki is silent because when he searches the agent's words for a lie, he cannot find one.

_You have heart_, he said, not so long ago, and now he wishes he hadn't. Perhaps the scepter manufactured this concern because of those words, or perhaps this is who Barton really is, laconic and seemingly aloof but someone who genuinely cares, and he wishes more than anything that Barton had ignored him like the others did (the ones who are not enthralled, who only care about this as a job or as revenge), had not given him this small moment of compassion. Because he _cannot stop_, and no matter the outcome, there is every chance that Barton will be a casualty, a necessary sacrifice. That is the truth as Loki knows it, as inevitable as his own defeat, and at least it would have been easier if Barton hadn't given him a reason to care about that brief little life being snuffed out.

Well, he did say Agent Romanov already has a personal motivation. Perhaps she is skilled enough to make something of her dedication.

"There is nothing you can do except help me to defeat Fury and his heroes," he says.

"Actually," Barton says neutrally, "that reminds me of something I've been wondering about. Why didn't you take Fury? Probably would've made things easier, if you had him on your side. Hell, you could've made him shut down the self-destruct and then everything would've been quieter from the beginning."

Loki just shakes his head, because he truly doesn't know. He should love the idea of forcing an imperious, one-eyed leader to serve him, but instead he just feels cold at the thought.

"That's how I probably would've done it, is all," Barton says. "Keep things quiet as possible. Obviously a dramatic entrance can be useful too."

"Yes," Loki says slowly. Useful, for instance, if one wanted to make a statement. Definitively announce one's presence. He had to show up in the Tesseract chamber, of course, but after that—yes. He could have easily done everything much more quietly. If he'd taken Fury, he could have all of SHIELD working for him now, unaware that they were hastening their own destruction.

He could, in fact, be on his way back to Thanos with the Tesseract by now.

Loki's thoughts come to an abrupt halt, and he turns this idea over, examining it from all angles. He could. Thanos will be pleased with any deaths caused by his thrall's little war, but he does not care about Midgard, not really—not like he cares about the Tesseract. Sending his army to conquer Midgard profits him little; at heart it is only a scrap tossed to his dog to keep him pacified, never mind that Loki cares little for Midgard either.

So if the dramatic entrance cannot be attributed to the compulsion—if Thanos' designs and Loki's own tendencies would both have been better served by subtlety—why did he act as he did?

To make a statement. To announce his presence, and in such a way that Midgard's heroes could not possibly fail to notice and react.

And the compulsion let him.

That realization is the first flicker of hope he's felt in what seems an eternity. If his actions can be constrained, but only insofar as they seem to work toward the titan's goal, and within that his intentions are free—if they can, to a certain extent, control _what _he does but not _why_—

He can sabotage this invasion.

For a moment he cringes inside, the Other's voice hissing in his memory _If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us_, but truly, it does not matter, does it? Thanos never promised him freedom if he succeeded, and Loki cannot imagine any possible future in which he hands over the Tesseract and is not made to regret it. At best, Thanos might kill him as soon as he has carried out his orders—or perhaps simply keep him as a thrall, if the titan thinks he can still be of use. The price the Other promised for failure…this is likely whether he returns to Thanos with or without his prize.

Serving Thanos will not save him. He is certain of this, as he has been certain of little since that fateful day on Jotunheim. Fighting Thanos will not save him either, most likely, but at least if he can frustrate the titan's plans…perhaps there is a _chance_. Of returning to Asgard, or raising an army, or working against Thanos from the shadows—anything, in short, but handing over the assurance of his own destruction.

Dying in battle on primitive Midgard, for that matter, would be infinitely preferable to bringing Thanos the Tesseract.

And even if he dies, or he fails altogether and is left to Thanos' tender mercies…it will be worth _something_ if he has done what little he can to fight the chains binding him. Especially if in so doing he can frustrate his master's plans and spit in the face of one who believed he had fully broken Loki to his will.

(It will be worth a great deal more if, someday, shining Asgard must thank its despised Jotunn exile for its salvation. But that possibility is far too distant and uncertain for dwelling on it now to be anything but a distraction he cannot afford.)

He cannot go too far in sabotaging the invasion, of course; without even trying he knows that the compulsion will not let him, for instance, tell Barton everything and send him back to SHIELD. But. If the Avengers Initiative represents Midgard's best chance of defending itself, and if only a push from some external force will shape them into a truly capable team…

Well then: he will give them a show. Play a villain they will itch to defeat. Give them a taste of what they will face so they are certain to put their strongest behind their defense. Make sure they have a personal stake.

Loki has always preferred to keep those he manipulates from realizing how he has influenced them, after all.

"Actually," he says slowly, "I think it might be best if we modify the plan a bit. Subtler methods are indeed to be preferred in many situations, but here…Midgard should see the power I wield, as swiftly as possible, in ways no one can ignore. If I am to rule, I would not have my future subjects throwing their lives away in gestures that will avail them nothing. Better to show them immediately that resistance is futile."

"…okay, um," Barton says, "for now maybe don't use those exact words or people might think you're joking and I'm guessing that's not the tone you want to set."

"'Resistance is futile'?" Loki repeats. "This phrase holds some significance for Midgardians?"

"It…yeah," Barton says, and now he seems to be fighting a grin. "Pop culture. It's a thing. When this is over, I'll introduce you to some."

"If I can spare the time, perhaps," Loki says dismissively, because he wants this too, and again it is something he cannot have. (Already the idea that Barton wants to share something with him is treacherously warming, and he has no time for this either.) "For now, I think your part of the mission will remain the same, so you need not concern yourself with any alterations." Selvig, though—he will have to speak with Selvig. Inform him the portal must be kept smaller than originally intended to maintain its stability, which is at least reasonable enough to try, and plant a suggestion to create some sort of failsafe. And the location—once more he wants to laugh, but this time the irony is far less dark. No, Stark Tower is still perfect.

The green beast…his momentary spark of humor fades at the thought of facing it, but if the confrontation cannot be avoided, he will do it. And perhaps the beast is powerful enough to deal him a blow that will shake loose the compulsion from his head. Unlikely, but possible.

A blow from Mjolnir might suffice too, but…he cannot think to rely on Thor for anything. Or to hope that Thor or Odin will forgive him or believe him. That too can wait. If he _is _returned to Asgard, if his false family gives any sign of recognizing their own flaws rather than blaming all shortcomings on the convenient Jotun in their midst, perhaps he will risk trusting them with however much of the truth he is then able to say.

And perhaps Odin will simply have him killed. That is a likely outcome if—for one reason or another—he does not reveal the truth of this invasion, and possibly even if he does, depending on how angry the Allfather is about Loki's earlier actions or how frustrated he is to learn that his castoff lacked the decency to remain dead. Perhaps he can be goaded into an impulsive execution, if things appear to be going even more badly than Loki expects. It is not an ideal outcome, of course, but there is always the chance that he will manage to escape, and even if he cannot…it is still not so bad. It would be quick enough, and then at least he would be _done_, unable any longer to hurt or be hurt. Almost certainly better than being buried in Asgard's dungeons for the next several millennia, forgotten and suffocating, and better by far than anything Thanos might do to him.

(If Odin only imprisons him, then…at least he can see his mother, if she does not hate him too, but he cannot hope for that. Better not to consider it.)

He still does not have many options, it is true. But at least he has a few, and something more to drive him than a leash dragging him inexorably onward to his own utter undoing. And he has work to do.

Loki climbs to his feet and has to slap one hand against the wall to keep his balance as the room dips and shivers around him. Barton is immediately on his feet as well with a steadying hand under Loki's elbow, and Loki wants to pull away, to insist that he is _fine_, except he's swaying and for an awful moment he thinks he really might collapse again.

"How long has it been since you've slept?" Barton asks, his voice a little sharp.

"I," Loki starts to say, and then stops. Surely—_surely_—he has slept at some point during the past year, but when he searches his memory he finds nothing, only darkness and confusion and pain. "I…cannot remember."

"Okay, well, first things first, I'm finding you a place to crash and then you're going to get some sleep." Loki raises an eyebrow at the mortal's presumption, and Barton looks back steadily, unmoved. "You already looked like shit when you came through the portal and you almost collapsed then, and you've been running on fumes ever since. You need to _rest_. I can keep things moving for a few hours."

Loki is not sure what it says—about him, or Barton, or this entire situation—that his instinctive reaction is relieved gratitude, not suspicion that Barton means to betray him while he is unconscious. The scepter will ensure the archer's continued obedience, of course, and he hates himself a bit for the unstoppable surge of longing that he could trust loyalty and concern instead.

It does not matter. He will not let it matter. He will do what he must, and so he will focus on the plan, on setting his gamble into motion.

"I must speak to Dr. Selvig first," he decides. "And—he should sleep too, if he has not—"

"Sure, if I can drag him away from his favorite toy," Barton says, "but he didn't cross God knows how many light-years of space to get here, so I'm pretty sure you need a break even more than he does."

A break. Humans have such odd turns of phrase. He remembers the sound of his own bones cracking and fights off another wave of dizziness. "If you insist I need a rest, you may find a suitable place while I confer with Selvig and then...escort me, I suppose."

"Sure thing," Barton says.

Loki takes a few experimental steps toward the door, and Barton sticks close, somehow without managing to give the impression that he's fussing over an invalid. Loki is very firmly not grateful for this. He has yet one more thing to do. "Agent Barton," he says, "forget this conversation after you leave the room. Anything not strictly relevant to the mission." He casts his mind back over everything he has and has not said, and clarifies, "Anything new you have learned or deduced about my motivations."

"Okay," Barton says after a short pause. "Can I ask why?"

"I have…several reasons, but the one that comes most readily to mind is..." _I may need you to hate me, and you may need that just as much_. "It will be better for us both if you do." He has no idea whether the scepter's influence will linger if the spell breaks, but it is still worth a try. Barton _will_ hate him after this, if he survives. Loki is certain of that, and equally certain that this is for the best. Diluting that hate with compassion (or worse, pity, and Loki _will not_ be pitied, not by anyone, because if he is that weak then he has lost his very self) will benefit neither of them.

Barton's eyebrows draw together for a moment, but then he nods and reaches for the door.

"Agent Barton," Loki says again, on a rush of something a little too close to panic, and Barton turns back to look at him. "You have been most helpful." That is not what he needs to say. He hesitates a moment before adding, "If I do not have a chance to say it later…thank you. For...for everything." It is stiff and awkward and inadequate, but he means it.

Barton's expression softens. "No problem, boss," he says, and above his sudden half-smile his eyes are kind and so, so blue.

* * *

1\. The title is from "A Bad Dream" by Keane, other parts of which are kind of relevant to this fic too.

2\. This fic might seem unfair to Thor, and that's because it's from Loki's point of view, and at the moment he's not really capable of being fair in the way he thinks about Thor. So, anything here that sounds like Thor hate is primarily a reflection of Loki's extremely conflicted feelings rather than my own opinions.

3\. I keep writing Loki fics that...don't actually represent theories I really for sure believe? I mean, this is the third one, I guess because anything else I'm writing that really does try to make a solid argument is _really long_ and I haven't posted any of that yet. So here, again, I like this theory, but I'm not married to it because I don't think it's hugely likely.

4\. See the link in my profile for the fanart that inspired this fic.


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